Chapter 51

Two Sides of a Coin

Hard wind at the western mines.

Eren had been with the mine guards almost three weeks. Training done, western shifts settled, and the days just went.

His hair had grown out some. Over his clothes he wore the gray-blue vest the crew issued. Extra cloth wrapped the hammer at his lower back so it wouldn't knock around on the job. Trouser legs stuffed into combat boots; slag and dust still found the leather anyway.

He and two other guards looped hemp rope around a post and hauled it farther out. Two men came down the ramp with a wooden crate between them, BLASTING in red paint on the corner, steps slow and careful. Someone behind them yelled, "Cordon out first—blast holes up top aren't charged yet."

Red Tea stood by the rope line with a length of warning rope still untied in his hand. "Nobody past the line who doesn't need to be. Gear on if you've got it. No gear, stay back."

Someone jammed an old helmet down and tugged the strap. Others had only a pair of worn gloves. They stayed outside the line and quit pressing forward.

Eren had just stamped the post firm when a fine rattle of sand and stone came off the ramp.

Not loud—lost in the wind. The men who'd just buckled those old helmets hadn't even looked up.

Not far ahead, a miner bent for a tool that had rolled to the slope edge.

First a few chips broke from the rock face above and cracked on the ground. Then a slab bigger than a table tore free of the wall and came down in a boil of dust. The miner glanced up. He hadn't stepped back when something heavy thudded overhead.

Red Tea was only a few paces from the ramp mouth, right by the rope. He swore, dropped the warning rope, and ran.

In a blink he was on the miner—shoved him down and covered him with his own body.

The stone had to weigh a few hundred kilos. It hit like muffled thunder.

Square across Red Tea's shoulders. Dust burst outward. The rope line jerked once.

More rubble followed. Dust swallowed the ramp mouth; nothing showed through.

For a second or two, nobody spoke.

Eren edged half a step toward the rope. All he saw was gray. No Red Tea, no miner—only stone still rolling on the slope. Charge in now and you'd just throw another life away.

He grabbed a newbie frozen beside him and yanked him clear.

"Back up."

The kid snapped awake and stumbled two steps back.

Even as he said it, Eren stepped forward himself. He ducked into the dust. Pale gray lines tightened under the skin of his left hand; his shoulder caught the rubble coming down and forced a path through.

"Don't!"

Someone shouted behind him. A few people at the rope sucked in breath at once, sure someone was about to die.

Inside the dust he couldn't see a thing. Eren found cold rock. He had just started to lift when the slab heaved hard, rolled aside, and jammed at a slant on the ground.

A seam opened in the dust.

Right in front of him, metal had sheathed Red Tea from neck to arms—skin like cast iron, the man a metal sculpture still wearing a shirt.

His right arm still held the worker under him. His left braced the ground. Chips rattled off his back and scraped his shoulder with a hard clink.

Red Tea pushed upright and let out a long breath. The metal sheen faded with it, leaving bare skin and a shirt scraped open. He brushed the dirt from his shoulder like someone had only flung a handful of dust at him.

Noise broke along the rope—first ragged laughs of relief, then cheers that blew the last few seconds of tension off.

The newbie's face had gone pale. An older guard clapped his shoulder.

"First time seeing it?"

The kid nodded, eyes still flicking toward Red Tea.

"No wonder they call him the Guild's iron wall."

Eren was already down, hauling the miner free of the stone edge. The two of them dragged him out together.

"You all right? Can you move?" Red Tea asked.

A scrape at the miner's temple, pant leg torn by chips, a little blood on the shin. Mostly shock—lips white, legs gone soft. He clung to Red Tea's arm so he wouldn't drop.

"I… I'm fine."

"Fine my ass. Sit this out." Red Tea got an arm under him, turned, and yelled, "You—call the infirmary. Rest of you, seal the rockfall zone. Nobody goes in."

Mine guards moved at once. Someone yanked the rope wider. Someone shoved the stunned newbie back.

Red Tea tipped his chin at Eren. One on each side, they walked the shaken miner toward the shed.

Away from the noise at the rope, Red Tea dropped his voice. "I know what you can do. Mine accidents don't give a damn. Don't play the hero."

Eren set the man on a bench.

"Look who's talking."

Red Tea snorted and let it go.

Eren turned back and hauled the rope out farther with two other men, clearing space.

Once the hurt and the rattled were sitting, Red Tea pointed at the ramp mouth.

"Leave the blast holes up top alone today," he said. "Seal the bad stretch. Clear the fall rock around it. Gear on. Don't stand under it."

"Got it."

Eren cinched his vest, rolled his sleeves, took a crowbar, and went to clear stone with the rest.

There wasn't much fall rock, but a chunk had wedged between the ramp edge and an old timber. Two men levered it. The timber didn't budge. Eren put a hand on the bar. Pale gray lines tightened under the skin of his left hand for a blink, then faded. The others only saw his shoulders drop; the stone eased half free.

"Damn—that's strength," one guard said.

Eren held the bar and nodded at the men beside him.

"Brace it. Don't let it slide back."

They moved fast.

Big stone handled, the crew started loading chips into a pushcart.

Chips, they called them—twenty or thirty kilos apiece, easy.

Two men each clawed a block, gritted their teeth, and staggered toward a cart a dozen paces off. Two trips and they were panting on their knees, shaking out wrists marked red by the edges.

Eren walked over, scooped one block in each hand, clamped them at his hips, and went. The pale gray on his left hand only flickered—almost invisible in the sun. While the others caught their breath, he came back empty-handed and took two more.

"He's that strong?" the newbie stared.

The guard laughed. "Don't try it. You won't match him. Those lines by his eyes—call that a disease? Who buys it? And charging in just now—freak stuff."

Eren said nothing. He only stacked stone on the cart.

Chip by chip they cleared the ground. The rope went out again in a wider ring.

Red Tea finished with the injured at the shed and came back.

"That's enough," he said. "This stretch's shut for today. Wait for topside to look it over."

People answered. Hands slowed.

Eren shoved the last chip past the rope and followed the others to the shed. The miner they'd pulled out still sat there catching his breath. Someone passed water. Someone leaned on a post.

An older guard unscrewed a waterskin, saw Eren squat by the shed, and tipped his chin.

"Eren—take a break," he said. "Still you. Quick hands. Puts his back into it."

Another guard grinned over. "Yeah. Only a few weeks in, and people are already fighting to partner with you."

Eren clapped the dust off his hands, half a smile like he meant to answer—then nothing. He just opened his waterskin and drank.

The older man smiled and dropped the praise. He looked toward the injured man on the bench, voice lower.

"If that rock had really come down solid—wonder if they'd even pay the injury claim."

Nobody answered.

Mine guards and workers drifted off to their own work.

By evening the wind at the western mines had eased. The quitting whistle blew; people were still sealing blast holes on the slope. Eren left with the first wave—tools returned, walking toward the town gate with the rest of the shift.

The lane where they lived now ran southeast from the gate—lamps bright, no junk piled at the mouth, still steady after dark. Eren carried his pack up to the second floor. Dust from his boots left shallow streaks on the stair. He looked down, didn't go in yet, and beat the dust from his clothes and pant legs at the door.

The lock was new. The key turned with a clean click. Someone inside heard it. Footsteps came fast from the main room.